


Secret acquaintances

by whokilledholofernes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Different Meeting, First Meetings, Johnlock - Freeform, Lestrade is a real detective, Lestrade is intruding, M/M, POV Lestrade, Secret Relationship, Sherlock has a secret, Sherlock is a twat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledholofernes/pseuds/whokilledholofernes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock rushes from the crime scene after receiving a text. That leaves Detective Inspector Lestrade behind with the question: What is Sherlock hiding?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret acquaintances

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you NumberThirteen for helping me edit this!

_“No, no, no NO. It’s not impossible, it’s not even improbable._ ” The detective growled at the DI.

“The given lifespan of a man trapped in an oxygen accessed room, but without water would _still_ be more than 120 hours. The marks on the box indicates that he is strong, he is big built, around six foot four inches, uses muscles instead of brains. He broke his thumb to get out of the handcuffs and hid on the door side, when the guard opened it he elbowed him in the face, cracked his nose, making the escape possible. That’s why you found blood that didn’t match his bloodtype. _He is the killer_. So tell your incompetent minions to find him, now. I would suggest that you start at the gambling club at North Hampton Street, he have worked there and has some ‘buddies’, one of them is the leak from the Saudi Arabian embassy. They probably keep him hidden in a back room.”

 Sherlock rambled on despite knowing Lestrade wouldn’t be able to follow. Lestrade knew, however, that he would do as Sherlock said; implement the unauthorised order to arrest Jules Khalili at the same moment as Sherlock was finished. He owed half of his career to this dick.

 “Ok, thank you Sherlock, we can manage from here. I’ll call you if anything happens.” Lestrade picked up his phone and badge and turned to the woman who just walked in the room. “Sally, send out an arrest order for Jules Khalili. Check his flat, if he’s not there go to the poker club at- at-”

 “North Hampton Street.” Sherlock continued for him, “He’s probably hiding in a back room of the club, he doesn’t expect to be caught, or even to be suspected of any crime, this is just a security measure, so he won’t be hard to find. But if he’s not there then look for any hidden spaces behind the walls. I’m positive he will be there, no reason visiting his flat first. Quickly please, I want to interrogate him today.” Sherlock continued giving Sally a beaming, fake smile.

 “You may be Lestrade’s pet, but you have no authority over me,” She replied coldly.

Lestrade sighed and took a moment before speaking to be prepared for mandatory insults. “Sherlock, you won’t be able to interrogate him, that’s our job. I told you that I will call you if you’re needed.” he continued and flinched slightly when the detective spun around to face him.

“There you go freak, we don’t need you.” Sally snarled triumphantly.

“But they are morons!” Sherlock whined, “If they don’t find any evidence on him, which they won’t, you will be forced to let him go and Gibbons will surely be gone by the morning.”

“We can put a stipulation on him to not leave the country,” Lestrade tried.

“But _we_ will decide if that will be necessary.” Sally filled in.

“That won’t do, I need to interrogate him tonight!”

“And why‘s that? Why can’t you wait until we are finished? Can’t bare it if we are the ones who put him in?” Sally continued, though ignored by everyone.

“Maybe in a few days Sherlock, I will do my best, sorry.” Lestrade felt sorry indeed. For himself.

“Don’t let him have his way.”

“SHUT UP DONOVAN!” Sherlock howled still staring at Lestrade, “He won’t need to leave the country and he still would have the ability if he wanted to. He’s an international criminal with a bounty on his head, of course he has plenty of contacts, people who probably owe him a few favours. Getting past the border control will be a piece of cake.”

Sherlock’s phone beeped and he snapped it open. For a moment it looked like he had frozen to the ground but then his hands started moving, texting a quick reply. Not quickly enough though. Sally had taken a step forward to examine the text too.

“Who’s John? Your psychiatrist?” she said over his shoulder.

Sherlock snapped the phone shut.

“And what did that John mean with ‘I think it will work’?” she continued, “Shock therapy?” Lestrade barely manage to suppress a snort of laughter; that would have been really unprofessional.

“Sherlock, it’s really not my decision. I don’t have the authority to let you do what ever you want. I’m serious” Lestrade continued a second later trying avoid the eventual fight between Sally and Sherlock. He'd been feeling increasingly stressed for the last couple of weeks, and so incredibly tired. A raging Holmes would not make it better.

He wondered quietly why he still put up with Holmes. The man was a genius for sure, but his brilliant mind came with several defects that perhaps did more damage then his genius did good. It wasn’t just the insults, Lestrade could bare with them. He knew from fifteen years of experience not to take anything personally in his work, especially when he had started working with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was rude and arrogant, but unbiased and objective, which was highly valuable in this profession. And rare.

But it was a problem when recently had started to refuse to work with some of Lestrade’s colleges, one of them being Sally Donovan. What made things even harder was that Lestrade’s colleges were also refusing to work with Sherlock. That wasn’t completely uncalled for though. All of them had at some point been accused or outed in some form in front of the whole Yard by Holmes himself. He had a habit of revealing people's darkest secrets and affairs whenever he had an audience. Applause for the genius deductions everyone. Twat.

What was an even bigger problem, something that Lestrade really couldn’t ignore, were the drugs. Sherlock always looked composed while working, no one would ever suspect he struggled with substance abuse, except maybe prescribed to calm him down. But on several occasions Lestrade had found the detective sprawled out on the kitchen floor, mumbling incoherently. Or he would be working on a case, furiously throwing things around him, pupils blown wide and thoughts even harder to follow than normal.

One time the DI had found him outside the door of 221B, unconscious. He had taken him to the hospital and Lestrade had sworn that this was it; the last time he ever worked with him… If only he had kept his promise.

Sherlock had been sent to a rehabilitation hospital. Sherlock hadn’t liked that. He was out after a week because the nurses and doctors were fed up with his aggression. That would mean tagging or intensive supervision, or perhaps even prison. Sherlock had promised that he would never have to find him like that again, Lestrade had made a couple of phone calls, almost lost his job, and the charges against Sherlock were dropped. No hospital, no prison, no fine. And did he get a thank you? _Who would he be kidding..._

Lestrade waited for Sherlock to reply. The detective obviously understood that Lestrade in fact couldn’t help him in this matter, because next second he swirled around and marched out of the door, though before it closed  he turned and put out a foot to stop it.

“I expect I will hear from you in shortly, I would _looove_ to know how the investigation is going.” he said, eyes flashing dangerously. Then he turned to Sally, “and oh Sally, congratulations on the baby. No wait, forgive me, your most recent sexual partner was that teacher and that was six months ago, I heard ‘eating the way through your sorrows’ is not the most effective way. Say, what is your experience?” and before she had time to reply he was out.

She turned to Greg instead, “Did you hear what he just-”

“Yes, I did. Leave it Donovan.” he said, wishing he was on a beach in Cyprus.

*

The case did indeed go badly, they didn’t even find Kahlili. If it was because of sloppy work from their side or a miscalculation from Sherlock’s he couldn’t tell, but the man was rarely wrong so the fault was probably on them. He didn’t call the detective though, he ought to have done that and he felt bad that he hadn’t. But he flinched at the idea of bringing the insufferably smug and condescending detective back after he had assured him that they had the case under control. It was both terrifying and humiliating. So he didn’t call. Though he did receive a text from Sherlock that indicated that it wasn’t needed.

‘I’m so sorry to see that you neglected the hidden room behind the toilet. It’s so obvious a child couldn’t have missed it, but it was a long time ago I lost hope in your officers. A hint, go inside the restaurant next to the casino and you’ll see with your own eyes that the size doesn’t add up. But no rush, Khalili is long gone. You should warn the authorities in Spain though.’

Greg sighed, something he did very often these days. He wondered if Sherlock had made this discovery before or after the escape to Spain. If it was before, and he deliberately had neglected informing Lestrade, he was going to kill him.

*

Molly Hooper told him that Sherlock came down to the morgue nearly every day. Lestrade suspected he tried to sneak out some body parts to experiment on. He knew what the contents of the jars above Sherlock’s fridge were, and it wasn’t jam. He also suspected Molly had something to do with the thievery, she had an odd liking for Sherlock. Whenever Holmes wanted assistance, Hooper was there. Whenever he wanted coffee or a bag of fingernails, Hooper was there.

Why she did these favours for Sherlock was beyond Lestrade, Sherlock basically treated her like crap. Worse was that he obviously was aware of her feelings for him and used them to his advantage.

Poor girl, but it seemed like she was satisfied with the smile he gave her every time she did something right. A smile that would vanish as soon as she turned her gaze away from him.

One time she had asked Lestrade if Sherlock had a girlfriend, Lestrade had laughed all the way to the cafeteria.

*

They found Khalili at the border of France and he was now in custody. Lestrade’s team was currently interviewing him to gain as much information about the cartel-like dealers he'd met in England. Sherlock had gotten the privilege to interrogate him first, after Lestrade had licked the arses of his bosses and his bosses’ bosses at New Scotland Yard. It had been worth it though, Sherlock was pleased and Lestrade was relieved.

It was a new case, a rather exciting one according to Lestrade. A four according to Sherlock. But he had convinced the detective to come out from his cubbyhole and have a look at the crime scene.

“Hah, wow, you really must be busy if you put Anderson to collect the evidence. You know he probably will ruin every fingerprint. Have you checked that he is actually wearing gloves?” Sherlock said cheerfully looking around at the  crime scene. At least we was in a good mood.

“Yeah, I’m really busy.” Lestrade answered, it was just easier to ignore the rest. “Three break-in’s in one week, I’m starting to think we have a league on us.” Greg looked down at the detectives own glove-clad hands, though expensive leather not thin plastic. They were well worn to the slightest, a pink thumb peeking out from a small hole in the seam.

Now thought about it, the detective looked a bit rougher than his usual elegant, swirling self. His shoes were scuffed at the sides and his hair was growing a bit too long. He knew the detective’s only income was from his clients and sometimes they were few and had a long interval between them, especially since Sherlock refused to see seventy per cent of them that he rated as too boring. Could it be so that Sherlock was running low on funds? Wouldn’t Mycroft be there to pitch in if so?

“You seem to need new gloves yourself,” Lestrade pointed out.

Sherlock flicked an eye to the hole, “Unnecessary.”

“Hey, Sherlock. You know that- You can always- I mean, if you need to borrow money, I am willing to help you out.” Lestrade offered cautiously.

Sherlock ducked down to inspect a footprint in the mud. “I don’t need your money, nor Mycroft’s.” he said absently and produced a magnifying glass from inside his coat. 

'Oh, so Mycroft had offered him money, but Sherlock had refused it.' He ought to have known that.

“You should get a flat mate.” Lestrade continued, wondering absently _who on earth_ would be willing to live with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock still had his nose down the mud when he replied, “I already have one.”

“What. _You do?_ Who is it?” Lestrade said with ill disguised surprise.

Sherlock’s head popped up, mouth slightly open. He obviously hadn’t meant to tell the DI that. He kept his mouth open for a few seconds before shrugging, and Sherlock ducked down once again.

“How come I never met him? How long has he or she lived there, Sherlock?” Lestrade was not going to let this one just go by.

“He doesn’t... Or, he doesn’t right now. We, I... he travels.” Sherlock replied, sounding a bit irritated. “Why are you so interested?”

“He moved out didn’t he?” Lestrade smirked. “Couldn’t handle the uneven hours?” Sherlock hated when people indicated that he was difficult to deal with, but heck, a bit reality check could do him some good.

“No he didn’t,” Sherlock sniffed haughtily, “his stuff is still in his bedroom.”

“Wait, am I hearing that correctly? _You_ have a flatmate? Isn’t that precious!” said a voice behind Sherlock and Lestrade. Anderson had snuck up on them, Sherlock and Anderson hated each other more than cats hated dogs.

'Oh joy, it's Christmas...' Lestrade thought.

“Good, that voice is really what you want to hear when you are trying to concentrate. Good job by the way.” Sherlock muttered towards the ground, now examining a bullet with his magnifying glass.

“What do you mean…” Anderson said suspiciously. Rightly so.

Sherlock got up turned around and smiled, “Good job demolishing all the footprints on the crime scene, very efficiant.”

“How were we supposed to know which ones were ours and which ones were the thieves'? It was a mess. But you wouldn’t know that. You always come in the end after we have done all the hard work, so you won’t get your hands dirty.” Anderson snarled.

“Oh yes, the hard work of strolling around trying to get your colleagues into bed.” Sherlock replied, and then clapped his hands together, “Well then, I think I’ll be heading back. I believe you have this under full control as always DI Lestrade with Anderson by your side. I’ll be down by Bart's tomorrow, trying out some bullet samples. Please do not call me if it’s not absolutely-” He was cut of by his phone's text alert. “...necessary…” he ended slowly while reading the incoming text. Then his facial expression changed. The charming, arrogant smirk disappeared and his mouth fell slack, his eyes widened slightly and Lestrade could have sworn he grew paler.

 

“I have to go,” Holmes repeated slowly.

Lestrade frowned, confused over the change of tone. “What was that? How about the results!? You can’t just leave!”

“It was nothing of importance. Go on without me.”

“Sherlock, I swear, if you are hiding information about the case I will have you arrested.” Lestrade growled threateningly, but the detective had already spun around and the two men he left behind were obviously no longer on his mind.

*

The next day passed and Sherlock didn’t show up, as the day after that.

They had found a witness who had a description of two men walking inside the back doors of the storage room at the right time. The only thing wrong was that Lestrade’s informants had told him they would be at least three. Where the third party had been hiding he had no idea, but he had hoped Sherlock would bring some clarity. His hopes were starting to wear off as eight hours had gone and Sherlock had failed to reply to his texts.

“ _Fucking, insufferable twat_ ” he swore as he checked his phone for the fourth time in an hour.

Either, Holmes had gone off to work on the case alone and Lestrade, _swear to god_ , would not help him if he ended up arrested this time. Or, he'd had one of his ‘downs’ as Lestrade used to call it, (‘junky ravel’ was Sally's name for it) and he didn’t think he could deal with that.

His anger made him work harder, he called in forensics and got them to show him all the lab results in less than half an hour. He yelled at the younger assistant when he forgot to make notes and he told Molly to bugger off when she asked where Sherlock was. Though at the end of the second day he began to worry. Sherlock always replied, even if it was just to tell him to fuck off. He always replied. Maybe he really had hurt himself, or overdosed. If that would have happened Greg Lestrade wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. He knew about these lapses and therefore he had some responsibility. And just because Holmes was hard to deal with didn’t mean he didn’t care what happened to the man. He would have to drive to Baker Street and check, but _God help him if he was alright_ , the DI thought bitterly.

*

At six thirty Lestrade still had work to do, but exhaustion was threatening to punch him to the ground so he decided he would call it a night. He hadn’t finished his report of the gunfire that had taken place yesterday, it should really be a simple matter but his mind was preoccupied. He needed to check on Sherlock now.

The drive to Baker Street was barely ten minutes, but the inner-city traffic made it into twenty. At the time he pulled up outside 221B his heart was racing. Greg tried to calm himself with that Sherlock’s landlady probably would know if Sherlock was lying dead in his flat, or if he hadn't returned home in the last couple of days. But he didn’t know how often she checked on him.

Lestrade hurried up the stairs and was just about to ring the bell when he heard a man’s voice muffled by the door.

“ _I will torture until you beg me for mercy._ ” the voice said.

Lestrade forze. That wasn’t Sherlock’s voice. Someone else was in the flat, and that someone was holding Sherlock prisoner, threatening to torture him, or was already torturing him. Lestrade’s heart started pounding hard in his ribcage. What if there was more than one person there, with guns? If so, the DI wouldn’t be able to take them all on, he would have to call for reinforcements.

But he wouldn’t do that.

Greg felt the door knob. It wasn’t locked. Without a sound he turned it and swung the door open.

“I never beg.” Sherlock’s voice came from the kitchen.

Lestrade cursed the detective in his mind. Why did he have to be so fucking proud all the time? He tiptoed as quietly as possible towards the kitchen, the door was ajar and Lestrade saw the reflection of someone standing behind the glass.

Then he heard a sharp metallic sound. The DI’s heart stopped and was ready to throw the door open as he heard Sherlock scream.

Sherlock screamed

With laughter.

_Sherlock laughed._

No torture machine, masochistic murderer or even bloody Al Qaida could have given him a bigger surprise.

“John, oh my God! Your face, _your face!_ ” he heard Sherlock gasp.

The man whose name apparently was John was also laughing now.

“You can’t poke me in the side when I’m chopping carrots Sherlock! I could cut my fingers of, or your fingers, that would be better.” He said, sounding amused. “Go ahead, put the onions in now.”

Lestrade felt dumbstruck. _Sherlock and that John were making dinner._

“Put them in yourself” Sherlock sniggered.

“I swear I will kill you,”

“No you won’t,”

“Dare me.”

“I dare you.”

“Put the onion in Sherlock. You chopped them for God's sake.”

Lestrade didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He felt ridiculous standing outside the kitchen door with clenched fists. He was listening in on something private, something he wasn’t meant to hear.

He turned around soundlessly and heard the men continue talking, oblivious to his presence.

“Are we drinking red or white John?” was the last thing Lestrade heard Sherlock say before he left. John answered something he couldn’t make out.

Lestrade left the building in deep thought. This was certainly an unexpected change of events. Sherlock Holmes had a friend. Someone he was laughing and joking with, and they were cooking and eating dinner together.

Lestrade suddenly regretted having walked out of there without seeing this _John_ ’s face. Who was he? Where had he been? Was he and Sherlock an item? The mere thought made him feel dizzy. But it didn’t feel impossible after today’s overheard conversation. But, my God, _'if Sherlock Holmes has a boyfriend then I am Cheryl Tweedy'_ , he thought as he drove up Oxford Street.

The next day Lestrade was late to work. He had spent ten minutes in his car contemplating whether he should drive to Baker Street again so that he could have a good look at the man, but then he once again got the feeling that he would be intruding on something private. But his curiosity wouldn’t allow him to drive to work, so instead he just sat in his car, like a moron.

After ten minutes he gave himself a mental bitch-slap and drove out the car park, heading towards the Yard. He was met by two officers and Sally Donovan before he even got to the door.

“We can’t just have random people walking in and out of the crime scene all day _, it doesn’t work that way_.” Sally sounded very hot and bothered.

“What’s this about?” he asked her and stepped inside.

“I allow the freak to come because of you, but this is too far. People with no authority walking around, looking at evidence as if it was a museum.” she continued and ignored his question.

“What people?” he asked but was interrupted by a familiar huff. He turned around and saw Sherlock standing in the doorway, beside him stood a small, kind looking man.

  
“Detective Inspector, I apologise for my absence, I had things to do. This is Doctor John Watson, _my husband_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Btw, the new episode of Sherlock was gooood.


End file.
